INSIDE HOBIE'S MIND*

INSIDE HOBIE'S MINDˏˋ°•*⁀➷

♡ - BRI ⤷ NINETEEN ! SHE/THEY ! BLACK ! - NSFW & SFW BLOG ♫ LIVING IN THE MOMENT WITH HOBIE

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AINT NOBODY TOLD ME NOTHINGGGG😩

june....

i just know yami has a big ass demon dick like the balls are so heavy and the tip is nice and fat and he fucks you like a flesh light.

he fucks anytime and anywhere

UM I DO TEXT YOU LIKE THAT WIEHJWJWKA

no cause why are my friends better than any person i’ve dated 😭

hola gang, The Publishing House is having an open q&a session. if y’all have questions (on and off anon) send to me, @neptunes1nterweb, @jupiterluv or @blkcupid !

just make sure to be respectful to us please !

Racing Back To Your Heart.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Black Reader.

Summary: It had been a hot minute since you consistently attended a street race, not since your messy and quite public break-up with Grimmjow. You had avoided for months, knowing it would just reopen the wound that part particular heartbreak, but after your bestie Tier Harribel got in, you felt like you had to start going again, if only to support her. It was a different circuit too, one that he never raced in, so chances of bumping into him were low.

You should have known better though, because guess who turned up to the race, an allegedly changed man, ready to get back together and work on an even better relationship. You never even wanted him to change himself, you just wanted him to be more emotionally available and find better, healthier ways of expressing his emotions. It took you seeing that he had truly changed and gotten better, and maybe now he could race his way into your heart again.

Please note: NSFW, Under 19 DNI, backshots, reader is black and has a big ass afro, lovers to exes to lovers again, they fuck on his bike, and then on his bed, oral (m and f receiving) unprotected sex, dirty talk, cream pie, biting, marking, degradation + praise combo, fingering, squirting, flirting, deep kisses, orgasm denial.

A/N: Kind of caught up with my updates and I needed some good thirst to fill in the time lest all my multichaptered fics end up in queue LMFAO. ALSO, Bleach is back soon and I need to prepare all of us for the Grimmjow thirst that awaits.

WC: 8.9k words

Squad: @enchantedforest-network

"No." The words left your mouth before she could even ask the question.

The she in question, your best friend Anita simply giggled a little awkwardly, scratching the back of her head in near defeat at your resounding refusal. "Come on, I haven't even asked the question yet."

"And the answer is still no."

It had been a long day at work today, doing a lot of administrative tasks as opposed to the actual mechanical fixing of cars and bikes you loved so much, and your brain was absolutely fried to say the least. You just wanted to go home and pass out by the end of it, but Anita called you and asked to hang out. You hadn't seen her, or a good number of your friends for a long time, so you felt guilty about saying no.

So you decided to meet her at a cute cafe that you loved that sold the most sugary, decadent pastries, and you were happily munching into your caramel slice and drinking your coffee when she got that look on her face that told you she wanted to ask you something that could potentially be detrimental to your wellbeing.

Okay 'detrimental to your wellbeing' was a little bit of an exaggeration, but it was one of those questions where the chances of you saying no were pretty high. And this time you were pretty sure it had to do something with the street racing circuit you were desperately trying to avoid.

"Well you could at least go for Harribel."

You paused, as if you were a badly animated character stuck in frame. It took far longer than you would have liked to process what Anita had just said. Go for Harribel? Where would you be going for Harribel?! What on earth was happening to her that you had to go somewhere?!

You swallowed your bite of your pastry, your mouth feeling uncharacteristically dry. "Some elaboration would be nice, you know."

There was a massive underground racing circuit in your region, with your particular city having one of the most diverse, active and competitive circuits of them all. People travelled across cities and borders to come and try their hand at winning the prize money, but it was usually very hard to qualify into the main race, simply because of the competitors involved, competitors who had been training for years, some even decades. For the most part it was illegal, but there was a smaller, more curated legal circuit that the organizers hid behind for all the fun stuff in the evenings. Fun, adult stuff.

Unfortunately, with unregulated adult hobbies that involved a lot of money of dubiously legal origin, there were a lot of equally dubiously legal deals, particularly involving drugs, sometimes sex, mostly both, and with those came its very close cousin: violence. Luckily there were ambulances and paramedics provided by the local council (they tolerated the circuits because it did, in fact, circulate a lot of currency locally), and usually incidents of violence didn't escalate beyond unruly brawls, lightly bleeding noses and the occasional busted lip.

As a mechanic it would make sense of you were interested in that neck of the woods, but at first you were very apprehensive of the social ramifications to your business. Like every industry this one was deceptively small, and one wrong word to the wrong person would cause your entire business to go bankrupt in six months or even less.

Enter Grimmjow.

Considering your clientele, he was the last kind of person you'd expect to patronise you. However, your reputation and expertise did precede you, so it probably made sense that he'd hear of you in due time. You remembered the very first time you saw him, popping your head up from fiddling with the very cute, very yellow bike before you, and being assaulted with an electric blue head of hair, unruly, distinctive. Your interest was piqued, and you decided to have a closer look for yourself, this dude that was causing whispers between your mechanics and such a peculiar colour of hair.

The first thing you noticed was the resting bitch face, handsome and smooth, accentuated by the half-lidded eyes, sharp nose, high cheekbones and lips turned downwards into a light frown. His jawline was probably crafted by the gods themselves, and his muscular form was not helping the rapidly inappropriate thoughts that were forming themselves in your mind. He had on a casual dress shirt, top couple of buttons open, giving a good peek of the tattoos on his chest, fitting khaki pants and classic chuck norris shoes, laces undone. He was pocketing, standing taller than most of the other people in the reception, and you decided, at that very moment that you'd make yourself available when it was his turn to be attended to.

"Good morning," you greeted him brightly, removing the gloves you used for work and wiping your hands with some wet wipes. "What can I do for you today?"

The smirk on his face was instantaneous, the curve upwards combined with the slight narrowing of his eyes - eyes that had no qualms of running up and down your entire form, feeling like he had stripped you bare and was reading your bare skin for every last reaction to him in real time - had you pausing for a split second, before you took the opportunity to turn away and throw the wipe you'd used, also take the chance to take a deep breath and get your mind back to order.

"Hello." His voice was comfortably in the baritone range, smooth, confident with a large hint of mischief. You swallowed, and you noticed that sharp, observant blue gaze drop to your lips, your throat and then back to your eyes. "I was looking for Cassidy, the owner of this garage. I take it you're her. I have a proposition for you."

And that was how your friendship begun. Predictably, his proposition was that you be one of the major mechanics of the local circuit. It would increase your client base, and would give you a good avenue to prcatice your craft for yourself and your mechanics, meet other service providers, suppliers and business you can collaborate with. It was a very good and interesting opportunity, but you were quick to share your misgivings about your own clientele. Grimmjow shrugged, seemingly very blasé, as if your issue had been exaggerated greatly.

"You'd be very surprised at the 'upright and upstanding members of society' you'd meet in street racing circuits. I can guarantee you right now about fifty percent of people that bring their nice and shiny cars and bikes here for you to maintain and repair are involved in street racing, and them seeing you there will probably drive business for you. After all, a mechanic that's trusted enough to fix a street racer's main source of income must be exceptional, because one thing about us is that we are very particular about our vehicles."

He sounded very brash, very rough around the edges, but you could tell this was someone who knew exactly what he was talking about. At the time you had no idea how many times he had won his races, how many championships he had under his belt, how up to that time (and even up to this moment) he had never lost in any tournament he had participated in, this man was more cunning and analytical than he looked, and he knew his appearance would have many dismiss him as not being as smart as he should be, and he would be more than ready to use that to his advantage.

You remembered the heat that manifested in your stomach when he looked at you, right through you as he popped open a can of energy drink. You remembered the confidence he exuded waiting for you to say yes, and though he was right, you thought it would be appropriate to make him sweat a little for it.

"And what's in it for you?" You asked him, making sure you laced just enough sweetness in your voice with your head tilted lightly to the side. He smacked his lips as he finished up his drink, casually throwing the can in the bin. It was such a normal gesture but there was something so roughly sexy about it you nearly missed his response.

"You get to be the exclusive mechanic of myself and my team, both on and off the tracks."

Your brain broke, and it was then that you remembered all the second hand accounts you'd heard of him and his team, and the disruption and forced adaptability he'd brought regionally, because he was so good, so advanced, always pushing the limits and boundaries of the racing meta, constantly ahead of his time, that whenever he entered the race many already considered it lost, and the competition now shifted to second place and at least one commercial endorsement.

So when he told you that you and your small but quite successful garage and very talented mechanics would work with his team specifically, your answer was an automatic yes. However, that would probably mean a growth of your business you weren't quite sure you were ready for, so you told him you'd sleep on it and get back to him later. Would he mind leaving behind a business card or something like that?

He chuckled, the sound very self-assured and very masculine, before actually removing a business card, flipping it back and scribbling his number at the back in a red pen he'd smoothly picked up from your reception. "The card is cool, but just call me tomorrow. I look forward to hearing your voice in my ear this time."

He turned, not even giving you chance to respond, and you noticed that the smirk was wiped clean off his back and it back to that slight scowl, hopping onto his sleep bike and revving away. For what seemed like fifteen or so minutes you stood there, holding the card in your hand still, staring at the scrawl of his name and his number, still hearing the echo of the Kawasaki engine in your ears. You finally looked down at the card, flipping it over and seeing his full name, his position of his biker team and his official number and email. The official number was different from the one he'd scribbled, and you knew right there and them than he was definitely communicating something to you.

Well, you supposed it was time to apply for that business loan you'd been eyeing the past couple of months.

...

Your mind rushed back to the present, and the question you'd just asked Anita was still echoing in your mind.

"Some elaboration would be nice, you know?" You didn't mean to sound so whiny, but you wanted verbal confirmation from someone you knew, someone you trusted, someone who understood your position in the underground racing circuit ecosystem.

Anita looked at you for a moment, chewing on her croissant slowly. She wiped the side of her mouth with a serviette, sipping her herbal tea and looking at her hands on her lap, as if thinking of how she was going to explain to you what was going on.

"Harribel decided on a whim to join the circuit, same one Grimmjow's in, but she'll be racing a motorbike instead of a car, so she never gets to compete with him. She got him to help her choose the best car and the best mods to get on on it, then recommended you to be her mechanic. She's been a bit scared coming in, because of your history with him, but she still will regardless eventually - tomorrow, I think she confirmed - because she trusts your garage better than anyone else's , just like the rest of us. She was intending to come in at some time when you wouldn't be around, but I suppose that's a moot point now coz I told you. She's gonna kill me, but it'll be a worthy death regardless."

You were silent as well, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers, already feeling the headache coming on from miles away.

The funny things is that what she was saying was very likely true. So Harribel joining the circuit meant that you, personally and physically had to go back to the races. Your garage and your mechanics represented you very well, but you rarely turned up. Not after that fateful day.

You sighed deeply, not quite sure how you should feel about everything. On one side you understood it, but also, the fact that you'd be more or less forced to return to the streets after over a year was something you were really feeling a type of way about, because you honestly were not ready. If you were being very honest with yourself you would never have been ready if it meant avoiding him, so maybe this was the push you needed to get back in there. You loved the street racing scene so much and you missed it horribly, but your own cowardice in refusing to confront your emotional demons was stopping you.

You laughed quietly, a little self-depreciative. "Tell Harribel I'll be waiting for her tomorrow." You left, leaving the tip on the desk because you didn't want to see the look on Anita's face, knowing it would make you cry.

...

You hated that the crying was inevitable at this point.

You got home, took a shower, made yourself some indulgent hot chocolate and a delicious chicken and ranch sandwich (toasted, of course) and put on your favourite animated series and started watching them. You were trying to postpone your feelings, postpone your tears, but your emotional ass was not having it. At least it all had the decency to allow you to finish your comfort food, clean up and go through at least four episodes before it got too much.

It was funny, the last time you sat on your couch with a house t-shit sobbing your eyeballs out into a horrible, dehydrated headache was two years ago, when you officially ended your relationship. It was one of the worst nights on your life, and it was one you would never, ever want to go through again, but here you were. It was cathartic in a way, since you had never really given yourself a chance to properly and completely go through the motions of that particular break up, and you kept on lying to yourself that you were over it, that you were over him, over Grimmjow, when in reality you weren't.

You never had been, and the way things were looking, you never really wanted to be.

If you were to be candid to yourself, Grimmjow was a great boyfriend. Despite his rough and blunt exterior, he genuinely did care about you, and he showed it in the small, habitual gestures many others never had the privilege to see. It would be him hanging out with you before and after races as you tinkled with the bikes and cars in the garage. It was in the way he'd remove his jacket with a quiet "hold this for me" when he noticed you were cold before he went to cause some mayhem at the races. It would be with how he knew the specific teas you liked, your coffee and milkshake orders, and what toppings you liked on what flavours of ice crimes. It was in him always bringing you something to bit whenever he came to visit, in the memes he dropped, in the random ass texts at random ass hours.

It was in the way he allowed you to cuddle with him, constantly initiating skin to skin contact despite how somewhat averse to physical touch he was. It was in the way he loved how you played with his soft hair, occasionally peering at his very blue roots and thinking about what his family tree would look like. The way he allowed you to wear his clothes, and how you sniffed them every once in a while just to get his distinctive scent of fire and toasted sandalwood stuck in your memory, a scent you could still smell at this very moment.

It was in the way he fucked you, soft, affectionate, but still a little rough, tossing and flipping you around like you weighed nothing. His strokes were something of legends, his snarls of growls of pleasure when he lost himself in you, the number of times you had to run to your gynaecologists to check on your birth control, the number of days you'd be secretly trying to hide your crip walk but how most people that knew you well enough would still be able to see, and how everyone would tease you within your boundaries about how much of a great time you were having.

It was in the way he took time out of his day to spend time with you, watching movies, sharing memes, watching and discussing documentaries, judging people's vehicles and grimacing at those motor shows because most of those clowns barely had any idea of what the fuck they were talking about.

Despite the usual hiccups in a usual relationship, you really did adore the four years you spent with him. However, his biggest flaw was that he had issues with processing and regulation his emotions, and more often than not the outlet was usually other people, especially people who had no business being involved in whatever the hell he was going through at the time. Most of the time it was unintentional, as he's learnt to recognise when he was about to explode and leave, but his outlets were usually quite destructive, which was also not healthy.

Grimmjow had never laid a finger of you in his emotional outbursts, or laid a finger on anyone else for that matter (unless they deserved it) but his behaviour still concerned you, and despite your encouragement of him to seek out professional help - which you also were - he was procrastinating heavily on that, and that, you supposed, was the beginning of the end of your relationship.

In retrospect, he could probably see it coming. He did eventually see a therapist, but it was too late. You were exhausted, especially emotionally, and at the time you thought he only did it to try and salvage the relationship. That was partially true, but he also coincidentally realised he did need help when he blew up on one of his higher performing teammates, and it had to take a monumental effort from you and some mutual friends to do some damage control and convince her to stay.

The splitting headache begun, and you had drunk quite a bit of water in your sad stroll down memory lane. It had been two hours of tears, and you decided it was time for bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and you needed to prepare for it.

...

There was a light knock on the door, three raps, a pause and then three raps. You grinned widely despite yourself, and the door opened slowly, before an unruly blonde head popped in, bright green eyes behind gorgeous eyelashes and rich, dark and smooth skin became more visible.

"Hello. Can I come in or am I ex communicated?"

You snorted, shoulders heaving in your laughter, genuinely happy at her foolishness right off the bat. She took that as a good sign and walked in, fitted in full rising gear, helmet hanging off her forearm. You stood up as she walked towards the desk, watching her put the helmet on your desk as you wrapped your arms around each other in a warm embrace.

"Hello Tia my love. It's really been a hot minute. Thank you so much for coming," you mumbled in her shoulders, tightening your grip around her. You stayed like that for a few moments before reluctantly separating.

"I'm so glad to see you're doing well, my darling," he responded, soft smile on her face as she gently massaged your scalp through your afro, like she did back in the day. It felt so good you had to catch yourself from sighing in bliss.

"I should have brought you those cute headbands I saw."

"You can bring them in anytime."

You sat down and over some freshly brewed tea you caught up on what you had both been doing. It seemed both of you had just been doing your respective things, and you felt a little guilty that you hadn't gotten in touch with her to hang out in a while. That was the story of your life the past three or so months it seemed.

"So why did you decide to get into street racing? Enough of your friends are in it so I'm sure it's not attendance," you asked, genuinely curious, but making sure your voice was still light and conversational.

She shrugged, only in that graceful way she could pull off. "Just wanted to challenge myself, see if I could excel in it. As you said, enough of my friends are in it, but it seemed very intriguing."

You nodded, understanding where she was coming from. She also made a point to ask if you, specifically can be her mechanic, both on and off the tracks. "I know there's a risk you'll meet Grimmjow but I've been talking to and hanging out with him since I got interested in street racing and he's definitely doing a lot better. His team says the explosions have been much less frequent and he's much better at telling the people he cares about how much they mean to him. " She paused for a moment, as if measuring her next words, but you found yourself grinning again, because if this was about him you knew the exact words she was about to say.

"I mean, everyone else gets to more or less suffer because he has never given a fuck before and he's not about to start now, but those in his inner circle have been experiencing a healing Grimmjow and as someone that has experienced him myself, it is a fantastic breath of fresh air."

You turned away, your smile turning a little melancholic. You knew what was going to happen though. It was time to make your dear friend win her very first race.

...

Goddamn you had missed this.

You had made it a point to turn up super early today, earlier than you ever had in your career here. You felt like you should come and get a feel of the place again, reacquaint yourself with this venue and remind yourself of all the physical reasons you loved this place and you loved this event. The place itself had never changed, but it was a little messy at the time because there was set up happening: vendors setting up their stalls, mechanics streaming in to set up for their racers, management yelling on occasion about what should go where, electricians checking up on sound and equipment, it was such an amazing sense of deja vu.

As the afternoon went on your mechanics trickled in, and amidst a whole lot of jokes and fresh fruit juice you set up, using the timetable to assign who would be working on whose vehicles today, and then going round and talking (and snarking) at old friends and enemies. The place opened, prompting you all to head to your designations, by the starting and finish lines (you, specifically, was always located on the finish line) and you came to realise that Grimmjow was not racing at all today. You had never been more relived in your life.

"I really hope he makes an appearance today though," one of your mechanics was saying, throwing nervous glances in your direction. "It will probably fuck Cass up a little bit, but maybe just come to see Harribel-san race and then he can leave, you know? It's been almost a month since he last raced. We've kind of missed him and his presence."

You paused for a moment here, in slight disbelief at what you'd had. Grimmjow loved street racing way too much. You couldn't exactly say it was his entire life, but he did dedicate a huge chunk of his time and energy to it. He could never go a single week without attending at least one race. The fact that he hadn't been in one for a month signalled to you that maybe something was a little wrong.

Maybe you wouldn't mind him making an appearance either.

You removed your phone, staring at it for a moment and wondering if you could call him. You hadn't spoken to him in about a year, and though you never deleted his contact, you just never communicated in any way. You wondered if he'd ignore you, but that would mean he somewhat hated you. Grimmjow never bothered interacting with people he never held in high regard, and as messy as your break up was, leaving you both very heartbroken, you doubted he hated you. Maybe hurt, but definitely not hate.

Because if he hated you, you would have known for sure.

You glanced back at your phone, genuinely conflicted at whether to reach out. You took a deep breath, deciding just to send a quick text. You greeted him, asking if he was going to be turning up to Harribels's first race (he'd most likely answer in the affirmative, but he was the one that taught you it was always best to ask, just to be sure) and informing him that would be here. You paused again, thinking of how to sign off, before you remembered Grimmjow was a very straight forward dude. You decided a 'hope to see you here' would suffice, and you added an emoji, just to keep it cute.

You tucked your phone back into your pocket, and went on with your day.

...

He responded about fifteen minutes later.

It took you about five minutes to gather the courage to actually read the text, let alone respond to it, but you wanted to see what he said, to psychologically and emotionally prepare yourself for him when he would most likely inevitably arrive. And, as everyone said, you were very pleasantly surprised.

He greeted you back, informing you that yes he would be coming because he wanted to support Harribel on her first race. He concluded with saying he was looking forward to seeing you too, with an equally cheeky emoji at the end. You stared at the text for far longer than you should. There was an element of warmth from it that you never quite associated with him. The words were textbook him - you could literally hear him say the words in your head as you read it - but you went back to what Harribel had told you back in your office, how he had gotten much better at dealing with and managing his emotions, and how if you were someone that knew him well enough you could clock it almost immediately.

This was probably what she was talking about.

With a slight blush on your face, you went to take your position. Harribel had arrived, and you felt like you needed to talk to her, busy yourself with her bike so that you didn't have to think about how excited you were meeting Grimmjow, despite your past misgivings.

Maybe something good would come out of your meeting.

...

You looked at the yolk yellow motorbike in front of you, proud of how it looked and how it operated. You beamed up at Harribel, gesturing for her to come to you.

"It's finally ready," you said to her, standing next to her, your excitement leaking from your voice. "It's running very smoothly, and it will be able to go for the two trials and the major race, though I'll come over and give it a final check over before your final race."

She turned, kissing you affectionately on the cheek and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. She felt so warm and comfortable around you that you were raising one of your greasy hands to half embrace her back, then you remembered you'd mess her gorgeous yellow and black, fitting rising gear, so you opted to nudge your head in her neck instead.

"Thank you so much. I'm so grateful having you as my mechanic."

"Of course. You're friend. You know I'd do it for you in a heartbeat. I'll do everything in my power to ensure you win."

It was about three hours to the race, and all the competitors and fans were seated. The place was buzzing, and the energy, though electric, was still very relaxed. This was a crowd of regulars, both from a competitor and a fan point of view. You couldn't believe you'd forgotten how enjoyable this was, the order, the scheduling. There was even more than usual patience for the race to start, everyone choosing to mingle and do their recreational drugs of choice, meeting up and catching up and overall enjoying themselves.

You had really been using your grief as an excuse to deny yourself one of your most fundamental joys, and you were slightly disappointed in yourself because of that.

Suddenly, there was a change in the atmosphere, going from relaxed to excited and anticipatory. Heads were turning and whispers were directed in one area, and you knew immediately that it was him. Only one person in this entire industry regionally could so easily pull the attention on him like that without necessarily doing anything.

Both of you turned to the direction of the fracas, and your breath got stuck in your throat when you saw the familiar head of unruly blue hair, and every last breath of air was knocked out of you when you saw him in his full glory.

Physically, he had never changed, except the three strands of hair in front of his eyes seemed to be longer. The hair on his head also seemed to be longer, unrulier, and the way he was dressed in all black had you feeling things you had no business feeling at this point in time. He had on a black dress shirt, first three buttons open and sleeves folded to just under his elbows, fitting on his muscular torso, with a leather belt and an equally black buckle, holding up black khaki pants and black Danner boots.

He looked sexy as sin today and you were very glad you were in charge of Harribel's bike because then you could fully focus on work and not on how you wanted to grip his hair and mark his neck as his hips pistoned in and out of -

"Hey Harribel, Cassidy." His voice still had an effect on you, still resurrecting that hoard of butterflies in your stomach that you never even knew was still there. "How are you doing? It's been a while huh?"

You also needed to talk about the the fact that he was the first one to greet you. That was definitely a new one.

You were still contemplating all these changes you were seeing when he appeared, embracing Harribel warmly as she thanked him so much for his support in turning up and giving her technical knowledge and helping her practice. "I promise I'll win this race just for you," she was saying as they separated and he smirked at her. You were pretty sure everything between your navel and knees clenched.

"You better, coz then how will you buy me breakfast tomorrow?" He joked, sniggering like a six year old before turning to you. "I'm glad you got to make it. Your presence has been missed around these parts."

He stood in front of you, waiting for you to invite him in for a hug. He had never, ever changed but he also had, because he was the only one that had such strong boundaries.

You stood up, wiping your hands off the extra grease and removing your gloves before removing and literally throwing your arms around his neck. Both of you stumbled backwards a little, and from the corner of your eye you noticed Harribel quietly taking her leave, immediately cognizant of the fact you two probably needed a moment. His cologne as usual was his trademark woody preference, but his own distinct scent was mixed well in there, and you subtly took a sniff, tears prickling the sides of your eyes when you felt his own arms wrap around your waist, holding you close against him, guaranteeing that feeling of safety he always gave you.

"I'm so glad to see you," you breathed in his ear, your voice slightly shaky. His arm tightened around you, along with your thighs together. "Sorry I haven't been around lately. I missed you."

He was silent for a bit more, before you both let go of each other. You looked into his eyes, smiling affectionately as you placed your right palm gently on his cheek. "Let's go to the garage so that we can catch up as we cheer for the bestie."

...

You absolutely could not believe you had denied yourself of this fun because you were moping and scared.

Grimmjow (and two of his squad) had agreed to come with you to the garage, and everyone had kind of accepted he was Harribel's coach for all intents and purposes of this race. She had taken first place in both her heats, so she was going to be taking first position for the main race. Both of you were incredibly proud of her, because it seemed like she was really made for this.

You'd done the final check ups on her bike, and she was headed to pole position, while the rest of you in the garage went to take your positions to spectate and cheer for her.

The race went well, and after Harribel won it, the victory lap, her going up to collect her trophy and her duffel bag of her prize money, it was already three in the morning. You decided to make a technical appearance for the after party - you constantly reminded yourself you were doing it for her, celebrating her winning her first ever race - then after that you would excuse yourself and go home to get some sleep. Garage staff that weren't here tonight would be working the next day, and that thought alone was enough to comfort you into a deep sleep that would have you waking up at a questionable hour the next day.

To your very pleasant surprise, the after party turned out to be far more fun than you previously anticipated. It turned out many of the folks that frequented the event were happy yo have you back, and you found yourself getting rather comfortable and snuggly around Grimmjow, hanging out with him and cracking jokes with him and stealing snacks with him.

"I should sign up for the next race, actually. It doesn't have any newbies in it and some people were talking shit. I think I need to remind them about who the fuck they were talking to," he told you as he watched you finish up your fourth cocktail of the night. You were getting far too buzzed for your liking.

You glanced up at him, smirking. "They were talking shit about you of all people despite how many times you've smoked them?"

"Yeah. I think they need to be reminded what defeat tastes like."

"I'll personally come by to play my hand in contributing to said defeat."

You both chuckled, as you marvelled at how easily you both got back into conversation. If you were someone else you'd find it very hard to believe you were exes. What you could believe, however, were the changes everyone was talking about. Of course he still maintained his rough, gruff, exterior, but there was an element of trust you knew first hand he had that he was not scared of showing in public.

It made your heart flutter.

"I think I'm going to call it a night. Or is it a morning at this point?" You mumbled, sneaking a glance out the window to see the yellow-pink-orange colour on the horizon that indicated a sunrise. You yawned, covering your mouth with your palm as you pushed yourself off the counter. "Thank you so much for hanging out with me."

You beamed up at him, and he smirked down at you, your mind deciding it would be a great idea to hug him, to smell him again so that your thoughts could stop going in the direction they currently were.

One minute you were standing on your own, the next you were pulled into a warm, muscular body, strong arm wrapped around you, and it was then you realised Grimmjow had pulled you into a hug. Your mouth felt dry, and you fully blamed the alcohol, and not feelings you thought you'd buried rising back to the surface.

"Allow me to take you home," he suggested, his baritone reverberating against your skin. You nodded in agreement. This was working out way better than you thought, and you hoped it would continue like this.

...

When he dropped you home, you ended up setting a day, time and place for a date.

It was pretty nostalgic, these feelings you were experiencing. It reminded you why you enjoyed dating him so much, because not many people could make you feel this way. The first date you went for was very cute, and that spurred consecutive dates. You never really did anything too nasty, but you noticed the kisses you shared tended to be progressively deeper the more dates you went on.

Which is what led to this moment right here.

He told you he wanted to take you to eat something more unhealthy, which was a habit you had both cultivated when you were dating. He was going to take you for loaded hotdogs and fresh fruit juice, then take you to the very decadent waffles kiosk you loved and still frequented, then you'd go glance at the mood over a small cliff you'd put him on a few months before you ended your relationship. You were swooning by the time he was done talking.

"The weather's been gorgeous the past couple of nights, so dress cute for me, hmm?" he told you, shamelessly running his eyes up and down your form as he headed to your door on the day you were setting up this date. You giggled, a good excuse to hide your blush and blatantly staring at his ass as he turned to open the door.

"Of course, of course. Say less. See you Grimmjow, and take care of yourself." You leaned upwards, wrapping an arm over his shoulder and gently kissing him on the lips. You felt his lean body tense for a moment as he breathed out through his nose, and you couldn't help but smirk a bit in the kiss. You really still had it, it seemed.

You twirled around as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You had on a cute orange and yellow dress, white ankle socks, white, cute ankle chuck norris shoes and a light sweater, just in case the weather switched on you. You had fluffed your afro out, and had opted for a rich, red lipstick. You grabbed your bag,, with your phone, keys, serviettes and wet wipes, sprayed a little more perfume, just to top up your scent, you told yourself, and headed to your sitting room.

You were just topped up your lip gloss when your phone buzzed. It was a text from Grimmjow, telling you he was waiting for you downstairs, and you responded immediately, telling him you would be there soon. When you got there, you almost fainted.

Grimmjow generally always looked good. Even back when you dated he'd always go out of his way to drip when you went out together, even subtly matching fits with you, but today he looked sexier than he normally did, though that could also because you were thirstier for him than normal. He looked very similar as he did when he turned up for Harribel's first race, except his shirt was opened scandalously low, almost to the middle of his torso, and he had a fitting leather jacket, doing wonders for his overall lean but muscular physique.

"What business do you have looking so sexy?" You asked him in lieu of greeting, breathing his cologne heavily when he swept you into a warm embrace. He chuckled against you, his deep baritone reverberating in his chest and doing things to you.

"You know I had to match with you," he quipped back, ushering you to his motorbike as you turned forward so that he couldn't get to see your heavy blush.

Dinner was absolutely lovely, and you spent the whole evening cracking jokes and thoroughly enjoying your meal. He had brought out one of his more luxurious but fast motorbikes, and you found yourself sitting in front of him, leaning back into his body and soaking his body heat as you glanced at the heavenly beauty that was the moon.

"I'm so happy I got to experience this with you again," he mumbled above you, his arm resting comfortably around your waist. you rested your own arm above him, scooting backwards more into him and allowing yourself a small, feminine smirk when you felt his breath catch in his chest.

"Yeah, me too. I'd actually missed hanging out with you just like this." You tilted your head upwards to look up at him, the same time he inclined his head downwards, and you felt yourself get lost in those rich, blue eyes. "Thank you very much for this evening. I had a fantastic time." You kissed him lightly on the chin, and he immediately looked up again, that trademark scowl back on his face as his cheekbones were dusted a pretty pink.

You stayed like that for a moment more, until a devilish idea suddenly came to you, and you politely asked if you could go home, to his place. Clothes and items to refresh yourself weren't a problem, you assured him. Nelliel lived across from him and you could just ask her to bring some stuff you kept at hers over. You could tell he had clocked you were up to something, but he just smirked at you and asked you to take the reigns and ride you both to his.

When you arrived your clothes were already there, so you told Grimmjow to buckle up as you went to park his bike at the basement, by his car, then you'd get up to collect your stuff then get to his apartment. He agreed, and you found the basement to be as comfortably warm as outside, prettily lit with the lights on the ground and on the ceiling. You removed your helmet, turning around to face him on the bike, his legs on the ground to balance you both.

You stared each other down for a moment, as if silently daring the other to make the first move. It's like there was a spark of electricity that passed between you, and that spark is what triggered you to move. You leaned upwards, one hand around his neck the other on his cheek and captured his lips with your own. You loved the look of surprise in his eyes before you closed yours, tilting your head and running your tongue over his lower lip to request deepening the kiss. He slipped an arm around your waist pulling you closer to him, his other hand on your chin, tilting you head to upwards as he opened his mouth and dipped his tongue into yours, and you moaned, grinding yourself against him in response.

He moaned in your mouth, sinking his teeth into your lower lip and you shuddered in his hold. You shifted against him, feeling his cock harden against you, and you broke the kiss, taking a deep breath as you groped him through his pants. His mouth moved from your lips, lips and teeth and tongue dragging down your chin, your haw, your neck, and he bit at the sensitive skin, placing soft kisses and running his tongue over the marks to soothe the resulting sting. You had to bit your tongue in turn, to stop yourself from moaning out in pleasure too long. You gripped his hair, relishing in the feel of the soft strands in between your fingers, as your other hand slipped up under his shirt, loving how his muscles tensed under your fingertips, the warmth of his skin against your palm.

"Oh my god," you whispered as he rearranged you on the bike, taking both your legs and placing them over his as your dress rode too far up to be publicly appropriate. You never cared though, shifting on him and feeling his grip on your hip tighten when you embarrassingly wet panties ground against his bulge, nearly tearing his pants at this point. You were opening your mouth to say something explicit, but he beat you to it.

"So fucking wet for me already I'm sure," he whispered huskily in your ear, long fingers pulling your underwear aside and he pushed two of them in, sliding in so easily because he was right. "I always told you were only made for me, because all I have to do is kiss you and your body immediately defaults to it's slut mode."

Anything that resembled critical thought disappeared from your brain, as you muscles pulled his fingers like they belonged in there. Your breathing increased, and your grip on his shirt tightened. Your eyes popped open and you wailed out his name when he curled his fingers in, pulling them out and then pushing them in again. God you had missed this, missed how he always hot spots no one else ever could. You shifted, gritting your teeth to stop his entire apartment block hearing you as you ground against his palm, desperately seeking that friction that he was teasing you with with only his fingers.

"That's it look at you," he encouraged, and suddenly you were moving faster. "My pretty little whore. Look how desperate you are for me."

You hated that the wonders of speech had escaped you now, but that was something you'd deal with later because your pleasure was beginning to overwhelm you. It was only a matter of time before your orgasm hit, and just then did he stop pulling his fingers out of you and staring you down smugly, his sharp gaze clouded by lust and his smirk simply diabolical as he licked every last drop of your fluids off his hand.

You could only stare at him in incredulously, blushing furiously, the fact that he so blatantly denied you your orgasm on hold for now. "You're such a menace," you mumbled instead, your pussy still throbbing.

"I know." One second you were sitting on his motorbike, peering up at him with defiance in your eyes, the next you were in his apartment (how did you get here?! When did he even get your clothes?!), your back against one of his walls, your panties somewhere in the void with your of your legs over his shoulder, your hands gripping his hair for deer life as his tongue lapped against your folds like an ice cream cone.

White spots were the only things you could see in your direct line of right, as Grimmjow's large hands n your hips held you steady as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked on it softly, alternating between his tongue and his lips. Your head hit the back of the wall as he dipped his tongue deep inside you, and that was the straw that broke the camel's back. The tension at the pit of your stomach gave out, pleasure erupting all over your body as you came, trembling over his face as continued pleasuring you with his mouth, the orgasm you had been denied earlier finally hitting you like an electric train.

It was the best orgasm you had received in a long, long time.

You cracked an eye open, looking at that smug smirk on his face, his chin absolutely wet. A fire lit in your chest, and despite how weak your knees were, you were determined to reduce him to much like he did you. You deserved that same level of gratification as well. "You really think you're hot shit just because you made me cum, huh?" Your voice was a breathy whisper instead of the strong retort you were aiming for.

He chuckled, not necessarily at you, but you heard that excitement he let out when he was being challenged. Grimmjow always responded to challenges head on, and you couldn't help a crooked grin yourself. "Wanna return the favour?" he inquired, perfect eyebrow raised. That was it.

You somehow managed to stand on wobbly legs as you gently pushed him backwards towards his bed. "Strip for me if you don't mind," you politely ordered as you took your own clothes off, and you were mildly surprised when he acquiesced you. That surprise, along with all other movements came to a grinding halt when you saw him spread on the bed for you like an entire harlot.

Grimmjow was always incredibly sexy to you, but seeing him like this, casually lying on his elbows, his cock all hard and thick and angry red and leaking had you squeezing your thighs. You wanted nothing more at this moment than to feel him cum down your throat. You walked towards the bed, clambering on it and crawling towards him as you took his cock in your hand, relishing in both how warm and soft it felt in your hand and his hiss rom between his teeth. You stroked him twice, noticing his thighs tensing from the corner of your eye before taking his tip in your mouth, sucking on it gently, before slipping down his entire shaft, as much as you could take at the time.

His hands were immediately in your hair, his fist clenching and unclenching like your muscles and you grinned, drool spilling down to his base on your hand. You rose once, making sure you ran your tongue more deliberately over than vein on the underside, over his frenulum, around his tip before sinking down, repeating the motion as your head bobbed up and down on his shaft, twisting your hand at his base in tandem, but still in an unpredictable pattern.

You moved your hand to fondle his balls, warm and heavy, and when you used his thigh to steady yourself, you felt him tremble. You let go of his cock with a loud pop, climbing on his and kissing him deeply, sliding your tongue in his mouth as he made sure your folds were against his dick, grinding you down into it.

"Ride me," he ordered against your lips, and you dropped your gaze, unable to look him in the eye. You nodded, still feeling shy, and he lifted you on his cock, aligning himself with you and helping you sink down. You threw your head back, fingers curling into fists against his chest as he stretched you to your limits, the pleasure-pain combination feeling so very good that that was the only sensation you could register.

You paused for a second when you reached the hilt, before rising and sinking again. For all his cockiness you both knew that he was right when he implied nobody ever fucked you like he did. Slowly as you rose and sank, he matched your rhythm, thrusting up when you sank down and pulling his hips down as you rose, together you created an euphoric sensation, as he leaned forward and laced marks across your dark skin, slightly visible and very clearly felt by you.

"That's it, doll," he snarled against your shoulder, knowing both of you would be reaching your respective peaks soon. "Just like that. Don't stop. Your pussy squeezing me so tight. Seems like she truly missed me, huh?"

All you could manage was a hiccup, your thighs quivering in bliss. Your throat was dry so you couldn't respond even if you wanted to. His thumb was on your clit, circling, and it wasn't long before you came with a hoarse shout of his name, rolling your hips against his in response, squirting all over his balls and his abdomen. You saw the mess you made on him, a little of it on his bed and you bit your lower lip. He thrust up about three or so more times before he followed you over the edge, his dick twitching inside you before he painted your walls white with his cum, as it spilled out of you and mixed with your own fluids. His forefinger and thumb were on your chin, lifting your face up to look at him.

"So, does this mean we're back together again?" He asked you, laughing quietly as you made a show of ignoring him and trying to reach for your bonnet to cover your hair. He stretched out his arm and handed it to you, and as you stuffed your hair neatly in it, signalling it was time for bed, you put your hands on your hips, wide grin splitting your face into two.

"Of course. You can't just fuck me like that and think you're going anywhere," you said, cuddling into him.

Racing back into your heart indeed.